Book review: The New Jim Crow

new jim crowLaw professor Michelle Alexander wrote a book called The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, which has become not only a surprise best seller since its paperback version came out in January 2012, but arguably THE definitive book on mass incarceration, particularly of men of color.

From the New York Times: “The book marshals pages of statistics and legal citations to argue that the get-tough approach to crime that began in the Nixon administration and intensified with Ronald Reagan’s declaration of the war on drugs has devastated black America.

“Today… nearly one-third of black men are likely to spend time in prison at some point, only to find themselves falling into permanent second-class citizenship after they get out… Professor Alexander’s book [asserts] that the crackdown was less a response to the actual explosion of violent crime than a deliberate effort to push back the gains of the civil rights movement.”

Our church studied the book in February during the Adult Education hour. In brief, Alexander shows an imperfect, but palpable, link from slavery to the Jim Crow laws that took effect, from after the American Civil War to perhaps a half-century ago. That was followed by a NEW Jim Crow of mass incarceration, where the number of people in prison in the United States grew from about 300,000 in 1970 to over 2 million by 2000.

Check out Uneven Justice: State Rates of Incarceration By Race and Ethnicity and Breaking Down Mass Incarceration in the 2010 Census: State-by-State Incarceration Rates by Race/Ethnicity.

Impact

Moreover, that mass incarceration has had a devastating effect on communities. From the book:

What has changed since the collapse of Jim Crow has less to do with the basic structure of our society than with the language we use to justify it. In the era of colorblindness, it is no longer socially permissible to use race, explicitly, as a justification for discrimination, exclusion, and social contempt. So we don’t. Rather than rely on race, we use our criminal justice system to label people of color “criminals” and then engage in all the practices we supposedly left behind.

Today it is perfectly legal to discriminate against criminals in nearly all the ways that it was once legal to discriminate against African Americans. Once you’re labeled a felon, the old forms of discrimination—employment discrimination, housing discrimination, denial of the right to vote, denial of educational opportunity, denial of food stamps and other public benefits, and exclusion from jury service—are suddenly legal. As a criminal, you have scarcely more rights, and arguably less respect, than a black man living in Alabama at the height of Jim Crow. We have not ended racial caste in America; we have merely redesigned it.

The problem with having read this book is that, once you’ve done that, you know the basic premise to be self-evidently true, and don’t understand why EVERYONE doesn’t know this. The one saving grace is that, when Alexander first started investigating the issue early in this century, SHE hadn’t connected the dots either.

I will note that the author occasionally repeats the narrative, I reckon, so that she’s certain the reader gets the point she’s making. But these are important points. Moreover, the issues are still taking place. Read Jails: Time to Wake Up to Mass Incarceration in Your Neighborhood.

Bathroom statistics

What is your methodology for minimizing picking up the germs of the public loo?

toiletThe things I do for informational purposes. According to a recent article, there are 10 restroom rules people are constantly breaking.

Independently, this is something I’ve noticed in men’s public restrooms for decades. If there are four bathroom stalls, as there are in the men’s room on our floor at work:

If none are occupied – A man will often go to stall #1 or #4.
If #1 occupied – A man will generally go to #4 or #3.
If #2 is occupied – A man will almost always go to #4.
#1 and #3 occupied – A man will generally go to #4.

Those of you of the male persuasion: Is this your observation of public bathroom behavior as well? I’m curious if this is an American phenomenon.
Those of you of the female persuasion: Do women do this as well, avoid being next to the occupied stall? Or is it, as I’ve seen in too many mediocre movies, that women seek out the adjacent stall?

And while I’m on the topic, what is your methodology for minimizing picking up the germs of the public loo? This article recommends Why your public restroom should utilize touchless or automatic dispensers and faucets.

However, the men’s room in my building is not what I would call efficient. Both the toilets and urinals in the men’s room are supposedly designed to flush after being used. Here’s the problem: either 1) they flush too often, or 2) not at all.

I recognize this is a function of a germophobic society, and “efficiency,” but please give me a handle to flush.

A relative of mine posted this on Facebook: “Question? If you’re in a public restroom and a guy answers a conference call, are you not supposed to flush?”

Curious minds want to know.

Incidentally, Dustbury settles the over/under toilet paper debate, at least to my satisfaction.

Toilet paper may have been invented in Albany, NY.

360-807-5520: Scam IRS call

360-807-5520 is a scam call, not from the IRS.

We received an automated message this week on our answering machine, purportedly from the Internal Revenue Service, from 360 807-5520, presumably western Washington state outside of metropolitan Seattle. The female voice claimed it was an urgent matter and the IRS is filing a lawsuit against us and that we need to call the number back ASAP. This is a scam; other people have received the same call in recent days.

Marcheta Hamlin

Too infrequently, I went to visit Mrs. Hamlin in her later years.

Marcheta HamlinMarcheta Hamlin, who was always Mrs. Hamlin to me, was one of the classiest people I’ve ever known. I don’t mean she was fancy, or put on airs; quite the opposite. She was proud, but not arrogant; dignified and gracious.

When I say she was like family, this wasn’t just a saying. Her parents, Rev. Alphonso Whitfield (d. 1999) and Constance (Walker) Whitfield (d. 2000), were my godparents. Her “nephson,” her sister Pat Jones’ son Walter (“Butch”), who lived right next door to the Hamlins, and from whom I inherited TWO jobs, was MY parents’ godson, and probably the closest thing I ever had to a brother.

Mrs. Hamlin was the organist at the church in which I grew up, Trinity A.M.E. Zion in Binghamton, NY, for decades. When I was 11 or 12, I took piano lessons from her for a little over a year. I just wasn’t very good at it, though I did practice. No regrets, since it was useful for singing.
Garland_Marcheta_Pat
One day, I was laboriously trying to play the Minuet in G major, then attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach, which, incidentally, I had danced to in second grade; it’s now credited to Christian Petzold. Mrs. Hamlin said, “It’s like A Lover’s Concerto by the Toys.” I had no idea what she was talking about, though, of course, now I do. But it was clear that she, who was my parents’ age, was cooler than I, at least at that moment.

Marcheta_HamlinHer daughters Connie and Lauren went to the same grade school and junior high my sisters and I did, Daniel S. Dickinson, which was but a block away from their home. We comprised approximately 40% of all the black kids going to school there at the time. Lauren sang at church with my sister Leslie and me in the MAZET Singers at church, which was only a couple blocks away from home for all of us.

Too infrequently, I went to visit Mrs. Hamlin in her later years. My wife got to meet her equally dignified husband, Garland, who died in 2003, and who figures prominently in this 1972 story I wrote a few years ago. I visited her a couple of times after his passing, at least once with my late mother c. 2007, and Mrs. Hamlin was, as always, a charming hostess.

The top picture is her c. 1942, holding her little cousin, John Hightower. The middle picture is of Garland and Marcheta’s wedding in 1949. Also pictured, her sister Pat (d. 1978) and Pat’s then-husband Walter L. Jones, who I barely remember.

Here is Mrs. Hamlin’s obituary. Today is her funeral, after 90 wonderful years, and she will be in my heart.

Herb Trimpe

Herb Trimpe shared “his extraordinary experiences of working hand-in-hand with the many ‘real life angels’ at Ground Zero following the September 11th attacks.”

hulk181-600x883 Mark Evanier and Johnny Bacardi write about the sudden death of comic book artist Herb Trimpe, who I met twice at comic book shows in Albany. He seemed like a nice guy.

But I never wanted to bug him, because all the fanboys who loved him because he was the first artist to draw Wolverine, later of the X-Men.

As noted in Bleeding Cool, he attended the East Coast Comic Con just this past weekend but died on Monday at the age of 75.

Herb Trimpe wrote eloquently about his unceremonious “dismissal” from comics by Marvel in a 2000 NY TIMES MAGAZINE article, in which he shows how he reinvented himself as an art instructor.

The ordained minister in the Episcopalian faith shared “his extraordinary experiences of working hand-in-hand with the many ‘real life angels’ at Ground Zero following the September 11th attacks in the book THE POWER OF ANGELS (2004).

Herb wrote, “Since the September 11 attacks, the area of devastation is known to most as Ground Zero. The phrase Ground Zero implies utter desolation, a vast emptiness devoid of life and hope. The World Trade Center site is anything but that.”

My friend Fred Hembeck wrote this lovely piece on Facebook, which he has allowed me to reprint:

Lynn and I were stunned to learn of Herb Trimpe’s passing. We saw Herb and his wife Patricia at the East Coast Comic Con just this past Saturday. I recognized his familiar voice call out from behind me as I was checking in, and turned to be greeted by a wide smile and a big hug.

Although I had met him briefly several times at various parties going back a few decades, it wasn’t until about ten years ago that we became good friends under somewhat unique circumstances: wife-to-be Patricia was our daughter Julie’s 10th-grade Spanish teacher and class counselor. Not long after the couple tied the knot, Herb presided over a once a week, full day cartooning class at the school for a semester, and he asked me to be guest instructor for a day. I agreed, but was admittedly very nervous at the prospect, as I didn’t really know him all that well, and trust me, I am NO teacher. But the day went just swell, and Herb invited me to come back again at the end of the semester for another go at it. From that, a really nice friendship was formed.

A year or so later, we shared High School Graduation Day together, as Patricia’s daughter Natalia was in the same class as Julie. It was a small private school, and each graduating student was given the chance to make a short speech. I recall being touched by the sincerely warm remarks Natalia made about her new step-dad during her turn at the podium. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though–EVERYBODY loved Herb.

After that, Lynn and I got together with Herb and Patricia a few times for some very enjoyable dinners–though in the past few years, we’d only managed to spend several scant happy minutes together at one comics convention or another (I was lucky enough to be in attendance last fall when Herb received a well-deserved Lifetime Achievement Award at the annual Harvey Awards Dinner).

But finally, stopping by Herb’s table late Saturday afternoon on our way out, as he was still producing sketches for a swarm of appreciative fans, we made tentative plans for dinner the weekend after next. And now, mere days later, this awful, awful news. Herb was a truly wonderful guy, and losing him has saddened me tremendously. Our hearts go out to Patricia, her daughter Natalia, and to all the other members of Herb’s family, as well as to his many, many friends and fans. A more likable guy you’d be hard-pressed to find, and it was truly an honor to consider him my friend.

Dustbury on the passing of singer Percy Sledge.

A very entertaining, real obit in the local paper for Christian Lewis Hacker.

Ramblin' with Roger
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